One Good Reason: Interlude
by reenka
Summary: draco dreams, and finds himself quite under harry's spell. silly chases and sappy witticisms ensue. don't worry, the angst will come. SLASH!


um. disclaimer:  
this has jkr's boys and my toys. um. i'm just playing, i'll give 'em   
back as soon as they're nice and ...um... subverted to my evil   
purposes.... *ahem* scratch that. i'll give 'em back, good as new!  
  
rating: g? pg13? who the heck knows  
  
warning: part of larger fic. yeay, i'm writing a larger fic! it's   
angsty! it's totally draco first-person! (so far..) this is an   
interlude  
  
thank you: brilliant amazing god-like (not upset with me?)   
amalin, totally riffed from :)  
----------------------------------   
  
~~summer~~dreaming~  
  
  
~June 10th, morning...  
  
Another dream. Walking along the beach. I can taste the salt and feel the  
air whipping past my skin, cascading down my arms, raising goosebumps, making  
my shirt feel like it's almost alive, trying to escape my body. I can't help  
grinning, and breaking into a run. My toes are grabbing up sand as I go,  
curling and flexing with glee. You are beside me one minute, slightly ahead  
the next, and you are laughing too. I can't see you very well, you seem to be  
a blur of wind-whipped dark hair and sunlight, glinting off glass, streaking  
shadows down your side, down onto sand.   
  
"Last one to the rocks is a limp starfish," you yell, somewhat  
nonsensically, sprinting ahead and giggling.  
  
"Just you wait, Potter!" I'm running as fast as I possibly can, trying to  
outrun this strange tightness in my chest, like I'm running too fast, but I'm  
not. I can't stand still without feeling like any minute my feet will leave  
the ground of their own accord, and I'll just fly away, leaving you there,  
staring up at me in consternation, until you're a small dark speck in a long  
strip of mustardseed yellow.  
So all I can do is keep running after you, any second now I'll catch up,  
throw you to the ground and proclaim my victory, stake my claim so to speak.  
But that's not what I'm thinking of, really. I'm not really thinking-- I'm  
just feeling-- carefree-- content to be pulled along, easy as a kite, by your  
shifting shadow.  
  
Even though I never had a carefree childhood, with all the legendary  
rolling about in the snow, serving up snowballs, jumping in puddles, climbing  
trees and spinning around as the autumn leaves whirled around in their mad  
dance of fall-- this moment-- this moment makes me feel like I know exactly  
how it feels, to play without second thoughts, cross purposes. Just play for  
the hell of it.   
You let me tag you (kindness, Potter? think you I need it?), so we wind up  
rolling about in the sand like slightly irritated puppies. I get flashes of  
your face, and you're grinning, not pretending to play a game, but your eyes  
are steady and shooting sparks straight at me. I swallow. You punch me in  
the shoulder, shoving me off you, scrambling up, your mouth a suspiciously  
curved line, as you eye me, still sprawled on the sand, attempting some sort  
of sneer no doubt. I launch myself at you again, making some sort of growling  
noise, and you go down again with a startled `oof'. Self-satisfied, I  
scramble up on top your chest, pinning you to the ground and looking  
victorious, but not for long. Where do you keep your wand, anyway, Wonder Boy?  
Because suddenly it's out, and pointed at me, and you're giving me that smirk  
(you didn't learn that from me, did you? Bastard.) And I'm levitating, a good  
10 feet off the ground, sputtering, no words coming to me, and you, well,  
you're laughing your arse off. Not surprising, since that's the least of what  
I'd do in your place.   
  
"Check, Malfoy," you say, still restraining giggles.  
  
"Ah, so you -are- playing, Potter..." I say, carefully neutral.  
  
"But of course," you say, still laughing.  
  
"Doesn't mean you'll win of course," I note conversationally, pretending  
I'm not floating and I don't feel the horrible need to sneeze coming upon me  
as the sand keeps tickling the inside of my nose.  
  
"No, but I'll be sure to enjoy myself, if this is any indication," you  
say agreeably, still grinning, the cheeky bastard.  
  
I feel like grinning back at you as you stand there, not really  
antagonistic at all. It feels good, this sense that we have an understanding,  
knowing you won't push me past my limits. Knowing I won't make you. In that  
moment, floating in the sea-drenched air, I can let go of reasons and  
consequences, give myself up to dreaming completely. Everything is strangely  
silent, yet there is humming in the back of my mind, everything mixing into  
the omnipresence of the ocean. I close my eyes, letting my lips relax into a  
smile, my hands slowly lifting towards you, like I want to feel the air around  
you with my fingertips, like I might know you then. And then I'm standing, my  
feet startled at the weight pushing at them once more, and my fingertips feel  
something beating, warm, and vibrating with life at their ends. I don't dare  
open my eyes, but let my fingers make contact with-- your chest-- and for long  
moments, I just stand there, fingers splayed, feeling warmth seep into me bit  
by bit, feeling the wind recede and the sun grow more and more palpable upon  
my back. Your heartbeat is the most reassuring sound I've ever had any hope  
of hearing, right then. And then my eyes snap open, and I know you've been  
looking at me-- looking for me. And I know you've found me-- I've been here  
all along. I can't tell you this, of course, I can't tell you-- that much I  
can keep to myself. But I take your hand, slowly, in mine, and press it  
against my chest, right where my hand was, on yours. And I don't say  
anything, but for some reason, I'm holding my breath.   
  
Slowly, you smile, and it's unlike any smile I've ever before imagined  
you wearing. This one lights up your face in a completely new way-- like  
you're waking within waking. Like you've seen your first sunrise. My heart is  
hammering in my ears, a great rushing sound, heavy and rhythmic, like the  
ocean was trying to get inside me.  
  
"Breathe, Draco," you say then, gently, your thumb moving in circles on  
my chest. "Breathe."   
And as I inhale, desperately wanting more of you, more ocean, more  
wind, more Harry on my tongue-- my eyes burn dry in my sockets-- and open.  
And I'm in the dark, in the Malfoy manor, in my bed, back in my head again,  
gasping for air. Just where I always was. And as my fists clench I remind  
myself, yet again, of who I am, and why crying just isn't an option.  
~~ 


End file.
